


It Hurts The Most

by MissJEDoe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Contains swearing - Freeform, Hurt, M/M, Self Harm, Soul Mate AU, mental health, please don't read if you might get triggered i don't want you hurting, quite a long one really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJEDoe/pseuds/MissJEDoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul mate AU. There is no way the two words on Grantaire's arm can mean Enjolras so he resents them - viciously. It's only because of alcohol that he dares to tell anyone what they are - and, of course, it goes well. But only after fighting this for four years.<br/>Written instead of doing my revision. Some serious mention of mental health problems and self harm - if this could trigger you please don't read. Complete, but please feel free to comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Hurts The Most

Grantaire, I’m growing icicles on my nose. X  
He sighed, glanced in the mirror, and turned off the tap. Grabbed his phone.  
In the bathroom. Give me one minute. X  
I’m counting. X  
Quickly, with the skill of someone who was well practised in this, he wrapped a tight bandage around his right forearm and secured it. Pulled his arm-cover over it for good measure – and then put his shirt back on.  
It still wouldn’t go away.  
But he fixed a smile on his face like it was another piece of clothing and ran downstairs to let Joly in. It was midday but the sky was dark and grey and looked like it was about to fall onto them.  
“You trying to get out of this by freezing me to death?” Joly hissed, shuffling into the hallway and stomping his feet, trying to get warm. Grantaire just rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat.  
“You’re too important to me for me to use you as a get-out-of-politics-free card.”  
He made a disbelieving noise. “I’ll believe that one day, R. But come on – it’s already five past – ”  
“I know, Joly.”  
“He’ll be pissed.”  
“He always is. At me, anyway,” Grantaire clarified, thinking to grab his pens and sketchbook from the kitchen counter. “He’ll forgive you, though.”  
“Not if we interrupt him mid speech,” Joly muttered, starting to walk back towards the door again. “Come on. I’ll get Bossuet to buy you a drink.”  
Grantaire winked, grabbed his wallet and darted past his friend into the air. It was icy underfoot and he almost skidded – but his balance was excellent and he just span, laughing at Joly’s horrified face.  
“Come on! I thought you were in a rush!”  
“Grantaire, we will fall and die – ”  
“Nah, I’ll break your fall,” he said, offering his arm. Joly grumbled but took it, holding his cane very tightly in the other. “Why do you always insist on fetching me, hey? You’re better off going straight there with Bossuet and Chetta.”  
“I like to make sure you’re okay,” Joly grumbled, concentrating on keeping his feet as stuck to the floor as possible. So it was almost half past when they got to the Musain and Enjolras stopped to glare at them.  
Grantaire snapped before he could say anything. “It’s icy out there, Apollo.”  
Enjolras nodded once and carried on. They had a lot to get through and they’d been sat there for two hours when Grantaire’s arm started to itch. It was itching so much that he had to excuse himself.  
Not thinking, he pushed his hand up his sleeve and scratched furiously.  
His nails and fingers were covered in blood in the few short seconds it took him to get from their meeting room to the toilets. He took one look and hid in a stall, pulling out handfuls of tissue before exposing his arm.  
He swore. Tried to get as much blood off of his clothes as possible with just the dry tissues. And then he stood there, glaring at the words which would not fade or disfigure no matter how many times he sliced into them.  
Help him.  
It wasn’t that it made it so clear that his soulmate was his own gender. Even though he’d faced years of so-called therapy for it – even when the words hadn’t changed and he’d been kicked out of his home. Even though the last time he’d seen his family was years ago.  
It was because he could think of exactly one person he wanted to be able to fall in love with and they did not need help.  
He stood there for a while, squeezing the skin together in an attempt to make it stop bleeding. He’d knocked the bandage, which was why it had itched – a simple mistake and now he was going to struggle to hide this from his friends.  
Fortunately, no one came to find him. Even though he was gone for twenty minutes and, when he got back, he barely moved his arm. It was aching and he was scared of knocking the barely formed scabs.  
Enjolras didn’t even bat an eyelid at him. So he lifted his bottle with his uninjured arm and drank instead of working on his sketch.  
“So we need to book a stand on the nineteenth,” Combeferre muttered, scribbling this down. “Get some merch we can give away – badges and things like that. And we need something to encourage people to actually come to us – any ideas?”  
“It’s a family event, right?” Musichetta asked, pushing her hair back behind her ears. Enjolras nodded. “What about something for the kids?”  
“Lucky dip? A – a teddy tombola?” Jehan suggested, fingers hidden somewhere under a net of wool. “Something cute like that which isn’t harmful and isn’t political – but something kids will like. It might get parents talking to us.”  
“What about face-painting?”Courfeyrac flicked a torn up bit of beermat at Grantaire. “You could do that.”  
He was shaking his head. “You have to have all sorts of forms and certificates – ”  
“You already have most of them,” Joly said, nudging him under the table. “We can get whatever else you’d need. We have over a month.”  
Grantaire just shrugged. And Enjolras sighed sharply, hurting him more than the cuts on his arm.  
“Grantaire, do you want to help us or not?”  
“I want to help you.”  
And he’d never need it. He’d never accept it, anyway.  
“Then help by showing some fucking enthusiasm for once in your life.”  
Grantaire looked down, more hurt than he could express in words. Fortunately his friends leapt to his defence –   
“Enjolras, that was harsh,” Musichetta snapped.  
Over her, he heard Combeferre telling Enjolras to calm down. And Joly took his hand as it reached for the bottle and gave it a squeeze.  
Enjolras sighed. “Sorry, R.”  
“Don’t apologise to me,” he sighed. “I’ll be there. I’ll go and get some new, decent paints and a bunch of disclaimers etcetera.”  
He wasn’t looking up so didn’t see the tiny smile which lightened Enjolras’s face before he continued speaking.  
“So we’ve got that event pretty much sorted. We really need to push because it’s freezing – ”  
“Don’t we know,” Joly muttered, making Bossuet laugh.  
“ – and there are so many people out there with no shelter,” Enjolras continued, voice wobbling slightly. Grantaire looked up. “How can – how can anyone think it’s okay? For people to be left outside in the cold and rain and, god forbid, snow. It’s not safe. People will get ill and it’s not their fault – ”  
“We’ll help them,” Combeferre said, interrupting his friend and giving him a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, Enjolras. We’ve got some weeks before it gets really bad – and we’ve got money already, remember.” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire saw the worry lingering there. It was in the corners of his lips and in the shadow of his jaw. “We’ve got this, team.”  
Jehan whooped and Enjolras managed another small smile. Grantaire caught his eye, realised he was smiling, too, and looked down. Straight to his bottle.  
They had a few more things to discuss. Were they going to push for longer opening hours for the public toilets? Of course – but they had so much to do. So that was going to have to wait.  
It was almost evening by the time they’d finished and then, even though he was desperate to hide from the world, Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to leave.  
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Joly asked subtly, whispering to him before standing up. Grantaire gave him another smile and shook his head.  
“Thanks, though. I just want a few minutes, y’know?”  
“I hear you. Be careful walking home.”  
“You too,” Grantaire laughed. “Bossuet?”  
“Hola.”  
“He’s like Bambi out there.”  
“Oh, I know,” Bossuet laughed, helping Joly up. Mushcietta appeared on his other side, grinning. “Don’t worry yourself, R. Speak to you later, right?”  
“Of course.”  
They all left. At least, he thought they’d all gone. He didn’t count footsteps on the stairs behind him and didn’t look around before sighing and leaning forward, pushing his forehead against the table as hard as he could and letting out a long-supressed sob.  
“Grantaire?”  
He jumped so much that he bit his jaw and, eyes filling with tears, turned to face Enjolras. Who was waiting for him – who was standing at the top of the stairs with an expression which didn’t suit him.  
“Yes, Enjolras?”  
“Are you okay?” He asked, stepping back towards him. Grantaire got to his feet and quickly swept up his things. “What was that – that sob?”  
“It was a sob, Enjolras,” Grantaire muttered, a little coolly. He was embarrassed. “I’m tired. See you soon.”  
Enjolras stood back and let him go, frowning and almost saying something else. He almost said so many things but he couldn’t form words properly when he was around Grantaire.  
They didn’t see each other again until a week had passed – and by then Grantaire was attempting sobriety again. So he was ratty and vulnerable, begrudgingly sipping at a soda and glaring at the table while Enjolras’s voice filled the room and suffocated him.  
Towards the end of the evening, Jehan crept over to him and asked timidly to be allowed to sit on his lap. Grantaire found his normal, easy laugh and held his arms out for them – and missed the softness of Enjolras’s face when he saw Grantaire being tender. He missed the little smile and the faraway look because he was trying desperately to not let anything throw him off-track. He was doing so well.  
So, when Enjolras caught him at the end of the meeting, he thought he’d die.  
“R, can we talk?”  
He wished for alcohol and nodded, sitting back down as everyone else left.  
Enjolras took a while to find the words and spent a few moments playing with his hair.  
“R, I want to ask you something very personal – ”  
“You can ask me, Apollo. I might not answer.”  
He took a deep breath. Sat beside him. Bounced his leg a few times. “What does your arm say?”  
Grantaire surprised him by laughing and shaking his head. “Nope. Not even Joly knows.”  
“Ah.”  
“Why?”  
“I haven’t told anyone mine, either.”  
“Doesn’t mean I’m about to share, Apollo. Sorry.”  
“No, it’s fine,” Enjolras muttered. “How are you?”  
“Me? I’m sober, Enjolras. I’m never worse.”  
“Really sober?” Enjolras asked, leaning towards him very slightly. And he was staring. Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d blinked sitting down and he was getting ready to run. But he nodded. “R, that’s brilliant. Well done.”  
“Thanks, but it won’t last,” he hissed, a little bitter. Why was he sitting so close? “Nothing good ever does.”  
“Don’t lose faith, Grantaire.”  
“You know I never have faith in the first place.” He pushed the chair back, searching for air which wasn’t filled with Enjolras.  
“Surely you have something you believe in – ”  
“Yeah,” Grantaire laughed sharply. “I believe in you, Enjolras. You know I’d do anything for you.”  
Enjolras bit his lip and nodded, looking down. “See you next week?”  
Grantaire stood up and tried to hide the sigh which slipped from him. Enjolras was just too much for him. “Yeah.”  
“R?”  
“Hm?”  
Enjolras hesitated, not sure what to say. “Sleep well.”  
“You too.” He ran.  
And avoided speaking to him until the nineteenth. That was another three meetings which he went to just to sit and watch Enjolras – or to hear his voice. He drank again but that was almost expected.  
Joly dragged him to the event, reminding him that he’d basically promised Enjolras that he would help. Grantaire pointed out that he’d been somewhat bullied into it – but went and did as Combeferre directed, secretly pleased that he was able to help. All he wanted was to be helpful.  
He was sat a little way away from the main stall they had, all set up with a table and tiny plastic chairs. It was warm in the hall they were in, despite the winter weather, and he had to take his coat off. And, as people filtered in, he realised he was going to have to take his jumper off, too. Underneath, he was just wearing a tshirt – which showed his arms.  
Enjolras and Combeferre were almost constantly talking to people and, by all accounts, the event was a success. Courfeyrac had got swept into helping watch a group of children playing with the provided toys – almost all of which already had their faces painted by Grantaire. He was non-stop and had to enlist Joly’s help at one stage.  
Jehan would have been preferable but they weren’t there and he didn’t want to hurt Joly’s feelings by phoning them.  
The stream of children eventually started to slow and Grantaire pulled his jumper back on as soon as he could, fed up of seeing his arm-cover and the questions asked by eight year olds who hadn’t learned yet to fear the phrases etched into their skin and didn’t know any better –   
“R?” Enjolras. He froze, took a breath and turned around with a gentle smile.  
“Hey.”   
“Are you packing up?” He asked, sliding past Combeferre to stand with him. He shrugged and looked around.  
“We’re surrounded by tigers and pirates and fairies – I don’t think there’s much else for me to do.”  
“What about me?” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire almost choked but caught up fairly quickly.  
“What do you want, Apollo?” He asked, spinning the brush lightly between his fingers. Enjolras blushed suddenly – and shrugged.  
“What would you recommend?”  
Grantaire smiled softly, heart racing, and told him to sit down on one of the bendy plastic seats. He did, still a little nervous, and burst into laughter as soon as Grantaire touched the cold brush to his cheek.  
“You’ll have to sit still, Apollo,” he whispered, grinning and leaning towards him over the little table. “Otherwise we’ll get paint in your pretty hair and we don’t want that, do we?”  
Enjolras grinned, closing his eyes, and swept his hair back. This was amazing and this was unreal and Enjolras was letting him touch his face –   
“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked very gently, barely moving his lips. Grantaire just smiled and didn’t answer. “R?”  
“You’ll see when it’s done,” he whispered. “If you don’t like it there are wipes right by your right knee.”  
“I’ll love it,” he muttered. “You don’t think it’s silly, do you?”  
“What, getting your face painted by your resident sceptic?” Grantaire asked, adding just a few more lines. “Nah. If it weren’t for this beard I’d be painted up too.”  
“I like your beard,” Enjolras said, completely unexpectedly. “It makes you look – makes you look gorgeous.”  
Grantaire leaned back, bright red. “Okay, Enjolras. Thanks. You can look – don’t worry about keeping it. You’ve probably got somewhere important to be after this, anyway.”  
“Nope,” Enjolras sighed, blinking at him a few times. And then he glanced down at the little mirror and grinned. “I look adorable.”  
“Of course you do,” Grantaire chuckled. “You always do. Do you like it?”  
“It’s amazing,” he laughed, stretching his neck to see around his jaw. “Wow. Do you do makeup?”  
Grantaire nodded. “Mostly for Jehan, though. Again, the beard – ”  
“You could paint around it, you know,” Enjolras suggested, eyeing up the paintbrush. Grantaire laughed. “May I?”  
“Oh, be my guest, Apollo.”  
Enjolras hesitated and then grinned, picking up the brush and making Grantaire close his eyes. They both giggled – a lot. And that was before Enjolras even started painting.  
“My hand keeps shaking,” he hissed, very close to Grantaire’s face. He knew he was blushing and barely managed to speak.  
“It’s fine. I have no expectations.”  
Enjolras mock gasped. “How rude. I have a certificate in art, you know.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yep.”  
“What did you get?”  
Enjolras hesitated. “C.”  
Grantaire tried to not laugh. “Oh, you fill me with confidence.”  
“I’ll jab you in the eye,” Enjolras growled, taking the brush to Grantaire’s eyelid as he said it and almost making him believe it – for a moment. “Nah. I couldn’t hurt you, R. You always look like you’re already hurting enough.”  
He licked his lips. “Well, I am.”  
“Is there anything I can do?”  
“Don’t worry about it, Enjolras. I’ll be okay at some point.”  
“What hurts you?” He asked, keeping the paintbrush moving just because he didn’t want Grantaire to open his eyes and make it impossible for him to speak. Grantaire sighed.  
“You know I don’t talk about my arm.”  
“Yeah. Me neither.”  
“It’s about a guy and – and I’ve never really recovered from the shit I went through for it.”  
Enjolras did drop the paintbrush – by accident. And Grantaire opened his eyes to look at him.  
“Tell me about it, R.”  
He shrugged. “Parents weren’t pleased. They tried to hide it – told me everyone hid their arms from the world. But that didn’t last long because everyone else was brandishing theirs like a badge or a fucking medal. So I started showing my arm and there were a few bullies but that was nothing compared to being sent to what is essentially fucking rehab and having what they tried selling as ‘therapy’ every day. Nothing compared to being found with a guy – we knew we weren’t right but we just wanted to try it to see if it was worth it – and being sent to prison for three months. And then being kicked out because that was a fucking great time – so yes, Apollo,” he said, making himself calm down. Enjolras looked terrified. “I’m hurting.”  
“Shitting hell,” Enjolras muttered, almost reaching for him. “Grantaire – ”  
“Are you two staying there all day?” Combeferre asked, making them both jump. Grantaire hadn’t even seen what Enjolras had painted. “Or can I have a hand?”  
Enjolras sighed and stood up. “I want to talk to you more about this, R.”  
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine mostly – ”  
He cut off because Enjolras leaned down and kissed his hair before running away to help Combeferre. And then he was frozen, terrified because he loved him so much –   
And this didn’t count as helping him. Helping him meant something dramatic – like in a car crash or some serious health problem or something like that. Not just painting faces. If anything, Enjolras was helping him. That wasn’t how these things worked.  
He packed up and tried to escape – but Enjolras caught him on his way to the door.  
“Grantaire, don’t freak out,” he whispered, slipping his hand into his. “Don’t freak out. I want to show you my arm but I don’t want to do it around people.”  
“Why me?”  
“Because I – I trust you,” he breathed. “And I really like you.”  
“What?”  
“I like you, R – ”  
“You can’t tell me that kind of thing.”  
“I can.”  
“No, Enjolras – you can’t because you can’t – ”  
“Grantaire, it’s okay - I said don’t freak out,” he said quickly, laughing. “It’s okay. I just want to spend time with you. And that’s okay, right?”  
Grantaire thought he’d be sick. “I suppose.”  
“Can I come over after this?”  
“Really?”  
“Really. I’ll bring food – or we could buy something in. Do what friends do.”  
Grantaire was going to be drunk by the time he got there. If he even showed up. “Alright. You know where I live, right?”  
“Yeah. I’ll see you later,” he whispered, being called out to the car by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “I promise, Grantaire. Trust me.”  
He shuddered. “Alright.” And almost ran from there.  
How was he going to survive this?  
He didn’t even think about the fact he had paint all over his face. He hadn’t looked at it yet and, by the time he got home, he’d forgotten about it. He just did the most sensible thing he could think of and found a bottle of wine from the fridge – he’d opened it, but never finished it.  
Sat on the floor. Drank half of it.  
Enjolras.  
Enjolras.  
Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras ¬–   
He moaned and got to his feet, wobbling slightly. But that was nothing new. A few minutes were spent half-heartedly trying to tidy the living room but the doubts soon sank in and he fell to the floor again, finishing the bottle.  
He closed his eyes and had no idea how long it had been when he opened them again, startled by something.  
The doorbell.  
He got to his feet, terrified, and went to answer it. And there, still with his painted face, was Enjolras.  
“Grantaire, I really want to tell you everything so I hope you have alcohol.”  
He snorted and let him in. “I’m a bottle ahead of you.”  
“Good – you might not remember all of this in the morning,” Enjolras practically growled, following him into the living room. “Okay. Okay. How do I start?”  
“Sit down,” Grantaire suggested. “What prompted this?”  
“You being honest with me,” Enjolras whispered. “I’ve never seen you quite so clearly. I’ve never understood you.”  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
“It made me want to be honest with you so – so – aw, shit,” he laughed and ran his hands through his hair. “Grantaire, I’m a wreck.”  
“I don’t think so.”  
“No, I am – I really am. I – shit – my anxiety is through the roof and I have nicotine patches because I used to smoke – like, loads.” Grantaire was now imagining Enjolras with smoke curling through his hair. “I – I don’t always know what’s real and what isn’t and I hallucinate and frequently forget my meds. I need help, R. I need so much help but nothing’s working and I’m terrified. ”  
“You’re on meds?” Grantaire whispered, shocked and ignoring that last part. Enjolras nodded. “I didn’t know.”  
“Nope. Because I never told you anything – but I want to because I want to trust you. I want to trust you, R – ”  
“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” Grantaire pointed out, taking one of those hands from that perfect hair. “Hey, stop pulling. Enjolras?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Are you scared?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What of?”  
“Of – of being alone when one of my moods hit. I’m scared of being alone because Courf and Ferre are going to want their own family and they can’t look after me and I can’t – I’m too afraid to trust anyone and that’s apparently all I need to fucking do – ”  
“Breathe, Apollo,” Grantaire whispered. Okay. They were sharing everything. This was happening. “Let me show you my arm.”  
“No – you don’t have to just because I – ”  
“You’ll understand me a bit better, I think,” he whispered, shrugging back out of his jumper. And then, holding his breath, he removed his arm-cover. Enjolras saw the bandage and flashed worried eyes at him before looking back down as he removed it –   
“Fuck, Grantaire!”  
“You can’t get rid of the words,” He said bluntly, holding his arm straight out. “They tried to burn them – with acid, no less. Nope. Nothing. And I’ve tried periodically for the last ten years to scratch or cut them off and they won’t – they won’t leave – ”  
“Help him,” Enjolras read, holding Grantaire’s hand. “Help him.”  
Grantaire gave up. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen – the words didn’t mean Enjolras so it didn’t matter. He may as well tell him. And he’d had too much alcohol to consider how badly this could backfire.  
“It hurts,” Grantaire whispered. “Not because of the cuts. Not because of the memories. Because I know it doesn’t mean you.”  
Enjolras started violently and looked up at him, eyes very suddenly filled with tears. “You want it to mean me?”  
He blinked and nodded. Fuck. His head was spinning. “But you don’t need my help – ”  
“Didn’t you hear what I was saying?” Enjolras squeaked. “I – I asked you for help.”  
Grantaire shuddered. “But not from me.”  
“R, what do you always say when I say I don’t think you believe in anything?” Enjolras said quickly, freeing his hand and going to his sleeve to show his arm. “What do you say?”  
“I say I – I believe in you, Apollo – ”  
“Look,” he breathed, throwing the cover to the floor between them. “Look.”  
Believe in him  
Grantaire thought he would be sick. And then, hand shaking and mind not connecting with his movements, he reached out to touch the words on Enjolras’s skin –   
He gasped and tipped his head back, letting out a low moan. “R – ”  
“I can’t believe it.”  
“Please do,” Enjolras whispered. “Please – ”  
He tugged his arm-cover back on and stood up, terrified. This was too much. “Enjolras, it can’t be you!”  
“Why not?”  
“Because you hate me!”  
“I don’t!”  
“You think I’m a waste of space!”  
“No – ”  
“You can’t trust me – ”  
“I can.”  
“I’ve loved you for so long – why wouldn’t we have known straight away, huh?”  
“We’ve both tried to repress it,” Enjolras explained, trembling horribly. “You were frightened and so was I – ”  
“You can’t – ”  
“R – ”  
“You can’t, you can’t – ”  
“Grantaire – ”  
“Not you – not you – ”  
“I love you, Grantaire.”  
He shuddered and turned to stare at Enjolras.  
“What?”  
“I love you. Not just because of these stupid fucking arms – because you’re gorgeous, Grantaire – and you’re so lovely with your friends and you’d protect any of them with your life and that’s really hot and your art is brilliant – ”  
“Enjolras – ” He was going to faint.  
“Grantaire, come and sit back down.”  
Grantaire sobbed. “I can’t – you can’t touch my arm.”  
“You touched mine.”  
“I can’t – all I’ve known for the last however fucking long is how to hide this from you – ”  
“Time for a change.”  
He sat on the floor and curled his knees up to his chest, trying to hold himself together. “Enjolras, you should go.”  
“No fucking way.”  
“This can’t work.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because we’re opposites – ”  
“Opposites attract.”  
“And you’re not attracted to me, Apollo – never mind what your fucking arm says. You’re repulsed by me.”  
“Can’t I decide that for myself?” Enjolras hissed, getting to his feet. Grantaire thought he was going to go and swallowed something down but, instead, this wonderful man sank to the floor in front of him and touched the tears on his face. “Hey. You’re washing off my masterpiece.”  
Grantaire snorted. “You still have yours on.”  
“It’s the only bit of your artwork I have,” Enjolras pointed out, cold fingers pushing into Grantaire’s wild hair. “Hey. Look, you touched me – ”  
“I shouldn’t have.”  
“No, listen, listen. You touched me. I can’t walk away from you now – you know that.”  
“It’s all just emotions – ”  
“Which I’m not very good at repressing,” Enjolras interrupted. “Grantaire, please. Let me see your arm again.”  
He hid his face and shook his head but Enjolras didn’t seem to be able to take his hand from him. His fingers were weaving deeper and deeper into his hair, like it was soft and made of gold instead heavy and dark. “Please don’t make me.”  
“What are you scared of?”  
Instead of answering, he sobbed. Because he was terrified – he was terrified of having his life changed and of leaving this monotony he’d grown so used to. Wake up. Think about Enjolras. Paint. Go back to sleep –   
“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered. “Grantaire, I love you.”  
“You don’t!”  
“Give me a chance, Grantaire. Let me show you – ”  
“I can’t help you – ”  
“You helped me today!”  
“How?!”  
“You came to the event – ”  
“That wasn’t for you – that was for the fucking society – ”  
“You listened to me just then – ”  
“Anyone could have listened – ”  
“Fucking hell, Grantaire, you have no idea!” Enjolras barked. “Seeing you at each meeting – ”  
“I don’t contribute – ”  
“You do sometimes – ”  
“I argue; it’s different.”  
“Grantaire, just seeing you – ”  
“Don’t – ”  
“Just seeing you gives me the confidence I need to speak about these things and make decisions. Do you remember that time you came to a regional meeting – and you just sat there by Joly?”  
He nodded. “Again, didn’t fucking contribute – ”  
“You kept your eyes on the desk the whole time I spoke but I watched you and I could see you and I wasn’t so shit scared,” Enjolras said quickly, fed up of being interrupted. “R – ”  
Grantaire shook his head again. “Enjolras – ”  
“I’m sick before most rallies – did you know that?” Grantaire shook his head. “I’m a nervous wreck. I panicked in the car on the way to the event today – ”  
“Why are you only just telling me?”  
“Because I’ve never had chance to speak to you properly before. And – and, Grantaire, you touched me, damn it, and it hurts so much – ”  
“What?” He looked up, terrified. How could he have hurt him? Enjolras was very close and he jumped back slightly.  
“It’s like someone’s holding a hot knife to it. Please, Grantaire – if it’s not me then it won’t have any effect on you, will it?”  
He was going to be sick. But there wasn’t any fight left in him, now – so he ripped the arm-cover off a little too viciously, threatening to make the cuts bleed again, and held the arm out for Enjolras. He couldn’t look. He turned away, bit his lips –   
Enjolras’s cold fingers left his hair and, so delicately it almost didn’t happen, touched the dot of the ‘I’. And a cry came from Grantaire which was unlike anything else.  
It was like someone had punched through his ribs and tried suffocating his heart. He gasped and tensed and then, when Enjolras’s fingers curled around his wrist, he moaned.  
It was a breath of clean air after being in a car for hours. It was the first sip of water after running. It was a warm blanket after being sat in the cold for days – it was a tissue when his eyes wouldn’t stop leaking tears. It was a plaster on the scars on his arms. It was –   
It was the arms of a lover, dragging him out from the edges of a nightmare.  
Enjolras kept tight hold of his arm, waiting for him to speak. But he was still sure he was going to be sick.  
“R?”  
He whimpered and shook his head, getting to his feet. But he took Enjolras’s hand, almost dragging him to the bathroom. He couldn’t be without him.  
Enjolras didn’t ask anything. He just hovered behind him as he knelt before the toilet, took several deep breaths and then was sick. And again. And again –   
“Grantaire, let me help,” Enjolras whispered, crouching behind him and holding his hair back. Grantaire was shaking. “I’ve got you.”  
He was sick again and just sobbed, definitely in shock. He was pale. He needed Joly. He wasn’t thinking – he couldn’t think. It hurt to think. And Enjolras was right there -   
Enjolras just stayed there, holding his hair and giving him some support. He kept whispering until Grantaire looked up and flushed the toilet.  
“Hey,” Enjolras whispered. “I’m here.”  
“It’s you,” he whimpered. “It’s you but – but – ”  
“But what?”  
He just shook his head, curling up and lying there on the bathroom floor. Enjolras sat with him, stroking his hair and holding his hand – but not touching his arm again. He was too scared.  
Eventually, after anyone other than Enjolras would have given up, Grantaire came to. He brought Enjolras’s hand almost to his lips but remembered he’d been sick and, quite suddenly, leapt to his feet to wash.  
Enjolras stayed beside him, like a shadow.  
“Okay,” Grantaire muttered, “Right. It’s you.”  
“It’s you,” Enjolras echoed, one hand delicately lying on his waist. “But only if you can forgive me – ”  
“What for?”  
“For always being so cold with you.”  
Grantaire shook his head. “Fuck it, Enjolras. It’s okay.” And then he glanced back at his reflection and the paint which had almost all wiped off. “Did you make me a tiger?”  
Enjolras laughed and kissed his hair. “Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you’re wild,” Enjolras whispered. “And you made me a cat. I thought it suited.”  
Grantaire smiled. And then he laughed and, at once, found he could breathe again.  
“It’s you, Enjolras – ”  
“It’s you.”  
“How – how could I not know?”  
“I said,” Enjolras whispered, snaking his arm right around his waist and looking at him in the mirror. “We were trying to fight it.”  
“I love you.”  
Enjolras grinned and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Grantaire. I believe in you.”  
He turned his face to the ceiling and smiled so much he almost started crying again. “I believe in you.”  
Enjolras kept kissing at him for a moment, holding him almost protectively. And then he said, “we should tell the others”.  
Grantaire had an idea.  
Before the rest of his paint could come off, and before Enjolras could wipe his all over Grantaire’s shirt, he made them take a photo. It was unusual for Enjolras to allow this but he was willing to do anything at that moment – including pose with his lips pressed against Grantaire’s cheek so they could tell the world that they’d found each other.  
They sent the photo to each of their friends and then put their phones to side, choosing to spend some time just holding each other and learn about each other. They shared stories of panic attacks and days they’d spent just hidden in bed – they shared stories about when they’d been proud of themselves and about when they’d celebrated things with their friends. They spoke and spoke and there wasn’t a moment when they weren’t touching.  
Of course, all of their friends freaked out. They each had a mass of missed calls and messages by the time they remembered their phones – and all they knew to say in response to them was that they were happy. They were happy – they were so happy.  
They went to bed. Getting undressed should have been awkward – but letting go of each other for even a second was too much for them to bear. So they smiled at each other and took turns taking off their shirts, realising they needed both hands for that.  
Enjolras went first. Grantaire just stood to one side, hand very lightly in contact with the front of his leg. For Grantaire, Enjolras stood behind him and slipped his hands onto the bare skin of his waist.  
“You won’t run off in the morning, will you?” Grantaire asked, hand on his back as he shimmied out of his trousers. Enjolras snorted.  
“Seriously? Of course not. I can’t let go of you, R – never mind run off and leave you.”  
Grantaire smiled meekly. “I’m just afraid. I’ve wanted it to be you since I met you.”  
“It is me,” Enjolras whispered, arms going around him to hold him close. They were almost naked and the contact of skin on skin was – was thrilling. But they were both aching from the years of fighting to do anything except lie down and fall asleep in each other’s arms.  
The morning was different.  
Enjolras woke first and spent the time until Grantaire woke just watching him and kissing him. He really was gorgeous – he hadn’t just said that the day before because he wanted this to happen. It was because Grantaire’s eyes sat either side of his nose at just the right distance from each other – they were just the right shape and shade of green and, even when they were closed in sleep, Enjolras fell in love with the curves of his eyelashes. Enjolras traced the lines of his bare body and shuddered when he found scar tissue. Grantaire had told him about them – about how many times things had gone wrong for him and how he’d almost given up. Enjolras was infinitely grateful that he hadn’t given up.  
Quite suddenly, Grantaire’s perfect eyes snapped open. He focussed on Enjolras and saw the soft, tender smile there and echoed it.  
Not saying a word but moving very slowly, Enjolras leaned in to kiss him. On the lips.  
It was like he’d lit a match between them. Suddenly they were fighting for the warmth – pushing towards each other even though there was no space there. They kissed and explored each other, getting to know one another’s bodies before facing the world as a pair. They kissed, they touched, they shared each other, they listened to each other’s moans and learned how to make the other one smile breathlessly and ask, in a whisper, for something more. And they learned how to lie together afterwards, Grantaire’s head tucked into Enjolras’s shoulder where he could reach to kiss his neck.  
But they couldn’t stay in bed forever. Now that they were happy they wanted to share it with the world – they wanted to let everyone know. So they asked their friends if they could meet up for lunch and of course they could – everyone was desperate for details.  
So they dressed each other, still afraid of losing contact. But they had to separate when they used the toilet and they made sure they practiced how to make it look like the separation wasn’t burning them before going to see their friends.  
They walked with their hands tight in each other’s and close to their sides, realising their orientation was unusual and, for the large part, unacceptable.  
Even so, they were met by loud cheers from their friends. Maybe the world couldn’t accept them, but their friends already had.  
“I’m so pleased for you!” Jehan squeaked, fighting through everyone else to put their arms around Grantaire’s waist. “R, you look so happy!”  
“I am happy,” he chuckled, tightening his hold on Enjolras’s hand. “I’m so happy.”  
Joly nudged his friend out of the way. “Grantaire, you have to tell us everything,” he muttered, knocking the breath from him with the force of his hug. Grantaire just laughed.  
And then Courfeyrac caught them both from behind and almost lifted them from the ground. “It only took you four years!”  
They laughed and clung to each other, realising just how stupid they’d been to avoid this for so long.  
Eventually, they were allowed to sit down. But this didn’t mean the questions stopped.  
“When?”  
“Last night, after the event – ”  
“Had you painted each other’s faces?”  
Courfeyrac snorted. “They did that while we were still there.”  
“And you didn’t think right then that you had something?” Bossuet asked, eyebrow raised. “You were touching each other!”  
“Yeah, but we were both pretty covered up,” Grantaire pointed out. “And you know I’ve told myself that it couldn’t possibly be him – ”  
“You’re a dumbass, R.”  
“Thanks.”  
“How did it happen?”  
“I went to R’s after helping Courf and Ferre drop everything off,” Enjolras explained, arm going around Grantaire again as he spoke. “And I knew – I knew that it was him and I was fed up of pretending. So I told him everything about me and – and I asked him to help me.”  
Grantaire almost burst into tears again. “My arm says help him,” he explained, saying it out loud for the first time in years.  
“And mine – mine says believe in him,” Enjolras whispered. “You might know by now that Grantaire believes in nothing – ”  
“Except you,” he breathed, looking up at him like he was the world.  
A pause.  
“So, yeah,” Enjolras said, clearing his throat. “What else?”  
“Did you share the bed?”  
“Of course,” Enjolras laughed. “I can’t let go of him.”  
“Did you fuck?”  
“Bossuet!”  
“I’m just asking – ”  
“Yes,” Enjolras sighed, blushing bright red. “Yes.”  
Joly ahwed.  
“Are you going to tell your folks?” Combeferre asked, not knowing Grantaire’s situation. They shared a look.  
“Probably not.”  
“Why?”  
“Mine have sort of disowned me,” Grantaire muttered.  
“Oh, shit – ”  
“Sorry, R.”  
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I have you and Joly to look after me, instead.”  
Joly snorted. “I am such a mom.”  
“You are, honey,” Musichetta sighed. “If we ever have kids I’m being a dad.”  
“Yeah, you can be mom,” Bossuet chuckled. “You mother the rest of us already.”  
“Can you imagine having a kid?” Courfeyrac muttered, looking up at Combeferre. Who, at once, looked terrified.  
“Please not for another few years, sweetheart.”  
Courfeyrac just sighed and rolled his eyes, looking back at Enjolras. “Will you tell your family?”  
He snorted and shook his head. “Not yet. Not ever if I can help it.”  
“Don’t you see them much?” Musichetta asked, letting Joly hide under her arm. He shook his head.  
“Slightly differing political views.”  
“Ah.”  
“Home isn’t great,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But it’s okay. Because you two aren’t going to have to baby me for the rest of your lives, now,” he said, looking at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “Which is a relief, I’m sure.”  
Combeferre rolled his eyes. “You know we love you, stupid. And if that means sitting up with you while you finish work at three am that’s fine. But I won’t prevent Grantaire having that opportunity – ”  
Grantaire laughed and leaned right into Enjolras. “Thanks, Ferre. I don’t mind, though. I have a pretty messed up sleep schedule too so maybe we’ll get it sorted.”  
Joly expressed doubts at this but they all sat around for a few hours, laughing and sharing stories. Enjolras ended up pulling Grantaire onto his laugh, even though he protested – he was so conscious of his weight –   
“Let me hold you,” Enjolras breathed, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “Please, just let me hold you.”  
So he let him. And he soon found that, actually, this was okay. Enjolras grinned at him and cradled him, whispering into his hair and just being far more lovely than Grantaire had ever expected. This was Enjolras. Enjolras, who would glare at him over the table and growl reasons why he was long –   
He felt himself sinking very suddenly. Enjolras was just being nice because he was excited. This was new and thrilling but, pretty soon, he was going to start shouting again –   
“Grantaire?” He breathed in a voice softer than honey. “Grantaire, Mon Ange, look at me.”  
Everyone was still talking around them and Enjolras was being calm so none of them noticed the complete fear on Grantaire’s face. Or the way his hands were trembling, reaching up his sleeves to scratch.  
“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, taking one of his hands. “Grantaire, I’m here.”  
“Why are you here?” He croaked, forgetting, for a moment, that they were surrounded by people. Enjolras kissed his temple.  
“Because I love you, Grantaire. I fell in love with you years ago and I’ve only just worked out what to do about it.”  
Grantaire shook and Enjolras acted quickly, pushing his arms underneath Grantaire so he could lift him and take him from the room. He didn’t have the strength to protest about being lifted – or to be surprised at the ease with which Enjolras got him from the room and into the fresh air.  
Fortunately, there was a beer-garden. They sat down there and Enjolras supported Grantaire, holding him into his chest and kissing his hair until he was able to speak.  
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m doubting this.”  
“I know you are,” Enjolras whispered. “But it’s okay. I’m right here. And I’m going to stay right by you until you’ve had enough of me – or until you believe that I love you. Whichever comes first.”  
Grantaire shook his head. “It’s not you – ”  
“You just can’t believe that anyone loves you?” Enjolras finished, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire found him a small smile.  
“Because I could never doubt you.”  
“I know, Grantaire, I know. It’s okay. You’ll believe that I love you one day,” he said with a grin. “You’ll get there. Because I’m struggling too – but I just keep telling myself that I have to trust you.”  
“I hope this works.”  
“It will work,” Enjolras said, taking Grantaire’s hands and raising them to his lips. “Hey. It’ll be fine. I’ll sit with you through every panic and every angry rage – ”  
“There might be quite a few of those.”  
Enjolras laughed and kissed his hands. “I know. I expect nothing less – it’s us, come on.”  
Grantaire smiled and sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“It just got all a bit much.”  
“Doesn’t matter,” Enjolras whispered. “We’re good?”  
“We’re good.”  
“Let’s get back to them before they panic.”  
They returned and explained that it was all a bit much – and no one minded. Of course, none of them minded – they all had their own problems and anxieties. This was just part of life for them. So they enjoyed the rest of the day and returned to Grantaire’s. They spent time getting to know each other – there never seemed to be a limit on how long they could whisper to each other for. They shared everything. They held each other when terrors hit and sometimes screamed at each other – but never for long. They’d sigh and hold their hands out for each other and spend a quiet moment just silently apologising.  
They made it work. Not because they knew it would never work with anyone else, but because they wanted, more than anything, for it to work between them.  
Sometimes – sometimes Grantaire would feel so bad that he would just lie in bed for days at a time. Enjolras knew then that it was down to him – he had to be the leader he always pretended to be and he had to help Grantaire. Most of the time he would just care for him – he’d lie down and cuddle him for silent hours or he’d check in with hot drinks and small offerings of food. But sometimes, when it got too much for them both, he would drag Grantaire from the house – amongst much shouting and arguing – and show him something wonderful. They’d go to a lake and watch the water or they’d go to a park and just walk. They’d talk about getting a dog or maybe a cat – and a few times they touched on the subject of adoption. It helped.  
Sometimes Enjolras was the one who broke down. It was when he was too stressed or when he just had so many things to think about at once and he would lose his appetite and he would spend more time in the bathroom being sick than actually doing all the things he needed to do. Grantaire would help where he could, making sure that Enjolras didn’t have to worry about things at home as well as at work. He’d have the place perfectly clean and tidy for when he got home and he’d surprise him with flowers or spontaneous back massages – or he’d actively help Enjolras write reports by processing the data for him. He’d find ways to remind him that not the whole world was broken and help him find peace in their own little paradise.


End file.
